


Second Origin Story

by Lavanya_Six



Category: Worm (Web Serial Novel)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, One Shot, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:23:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1968945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavanya_Six/pseuds/Lavanya_Six
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taylor Hebert, broken in spirit and wounded in body from the events of Gold Morning, travels to Tibet in search of a healer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Origin Story

The temple occupies a wind-swept plateau. It isn't on any satellite image or official map, but that just sells me on the rumors. Especially with the evidence I've dug up of the People's Liberation Army historically giving the area a wide berth.

A blizzard whips up just as the fabled temple comes into view.

Natural or Shaker-induced? Either way, there's only forward for me.

I manage the slog to the temple's unguarded entrance even as conditions escalate to a full-blown whiteout. Inside, there's a long cavernous hall stretching into darkness, with low red fires at the end. Battered and broken statues line the way.

My flashlight fritz out when I try it, and so do, somehow, my glow sticks. I briefly consider cracking off one of the roadside flares but decide that would be impolite. I'm not alone, after all, and this is their house.

I pull back my hood, and strip off my hat and prescription snow googles. Long black curls shake free. The ominous hallway is a blur until I pluck my eyeglasses out of a jacket pocket and slip them on. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I pick up the faint outline of a narrow staircase at the other end of the hall. Atop it sits a throne, and a lone man.

"Hello," I say, taking tentative steps forward. "My name is Taylor. I've come to seek the wisdom and mercy of the Ancient One." And I really hope he speaks English, because the translation app on my phone is crap.

"I am versed in the Western tongues," the figure on the throne replies.

"Did you intuit my thoughts just now, or was that a coincidence?"

"Yes."

I feel a spike of irritation, but the egg is on my face. I really should have phrased that question better.

"What mission brings you to this place of silence, Khepri?"

...fuck.

Okay. Okay. Roll with it.

"I'm here for my arm." I gesture with my good one to the prosthetic. "Parahuman healers were rare on Bet, and are unheard of here on Aleph. I wish to beg for the mercy of the Ancient One, whose benevolence is whispered of far and wide, in making my body whole again."

Instantly, fire erupts from the floor, raising a curtain between the two of us.

The Ancient One, hunched over on his throne, stares down at me. "By what right does Khepri demand such a boon from me?"

"I'm not _her_ anymore," I say, my breath coming out in a white puff, despite the intensity of the flames before me. "I'm not Skitter or Weaver or anyone else. I'm just Taylor Hebert."

"Then allow me to glimpse within your mind, _Taylor Hebert,_ as you did so many countless others." The elder's eyes take on a faint red glow that shines in the dark. "Hm. You speak the truth, as you understand it. Yet turning outward for healing will bring you little comfort. Peace lies within."

I nod.

"I've worked toward that for the last three years, and guess I will be for the rest of my life. But a new arm would help with the day-to-day stuff."

The flaming curtain lowers to a simmer. "You also think me a mere parahuman, yet I am far more than a mere conduit for parasites from beyond the stars, as you once were. But then you are ignorant of a great many things."

Magic. He really thinks his abilities are magic.

I recall Nilbog and his mad tea party, but shunt that thought from my mind. The Ancient One isn't the first person I've dealt with that can intuit things. None of the comparisons are entirely flattering. Even the example of non-psychotic Lisa, a wily teenage blonde, might not be an endearing compliment to this old man if he's deducing my thought process somehow.

Outside, the storm continues to howl.

I grope for a response.

"The only experience I have with people of extraordinary abilities are parahumans," I explain, carefully. "Well, and one AI. But she was also a parahuman, so it sort of counts. I mean no disrespect toward you, Ancient One, but if you can read my thoughts than saying otherwise would be a lie."

"You have _much_ to _learn_... if you desire."

It takes me a moment to disassemble all the meaning there. "I—I'm no student, Ancient One. I don't want power."

"Rest assured I am not that fiend, Teacher. Your mind will be your own. Perhaps more so than it has been in a great many years."

It's almost tempting when he puts it like that, but...

I shake my head. "I've done my part."

"Perhaps you have," the Ancient One concedes.

He stands from his throne and floats down the staircase. "Or perhaps not. In either case, the storm will not abate for many days. When the winds die down, I will restore your arm. Until then you will stay as my guest."

"Thank you," I say, honestly.

He raises a palm. "Know that the ability to heal your arm is within your own grasp, if you will allow me to enlighten you. I believe limb regeneration would be a useful skill for someone with your track record."

The smile on my lips is bitter but amused.

Another man enters the hall from the shadows. "My pupil Mordo will show you to your dwelling chamber. We will speak later over tea, Taylor Hebert."

I bow my head.


End file.
